The house was silent except for the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. I was standing in the dimly lit living room, staring at the plain white envelope that had slipped out from beneath the couch cushions.
It wasn’t the kind of envelope that usually caught my attention, but something about it felt different. The weight of it in my hand was heavier than it should have been.
I hesitated before opening it, my fingers tracing the edges, feeling the slight roughness of the paper.
The envelope was unsealed, as if waiting to reveal its contents at the right moment.
I glanced towards the hallway, half expecting to see my partner emerging, but the door remained closed, a silent witness to the unfolding discovery.
The light from the window cast long shadows across the floor, adding to the sense of unease that had settled in my stomach.
I took a deep breath and let my fingers slide inside the envelope, pulling out a stack of papers that were carefully folded.
The top sheet was a letter, handwritten, with familiar loops and curves that I recognized immediately.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
The letter was dated months ago, and as I read through the lines, a sense of betrayal began to build.
Each word felt like a small cut, deepening the wound.
The realization that my partner had been keeping this from me sat heavily on my chest, making it hard to breathe.
I heard a faint creak behind me and turned sharply, expecting to see my partner’s face, an explanation ready on their lips.
But the room was still empty, the silence almost mocking in its persistence.
I dropped the papers on the coffee table, the sound echoing in the quiet.
I sat down on the edge of the couch, my heart pounding in my ears.
How long had this been going on?
The question hung in the air, unanswered, as I tried to piece together the timeline.
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